


Like Grass

by boxoftheskyking



Category: Snowpiercer (2013)
Genre: Death of child, The McGregor Rebellion, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:36:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2234310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxoftheskyking/pseuds/boxoftheskyking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for rosewindow's prompt "Breaking the rules."<br/>Edgar and his best friend during the McGregor Riots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Grass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosewindow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewindow/gifts).



> un-beta'd

Edgar is twelve the first time he gets shot. He’s not even supposed to be there, obviously. Obviously. They’re desperate, but they’re not that desperate - plenty of able-bodied adults to hold the front line.

It isn’t much of a front line, more a crowd scrabbling for purchase on the steel floor of a train. He’s small, skinny as any train-kid can be (he remembers being smaller, stupider, looking at Tanya and Leo in awe, the curve of Tanya’s hips, Leo’s chins, poking at his own thighs and belly, jealous, jealous), and he can easily slip through unnoticed with is collar pulled up to his ears. He’s got a pipe. It’s not a very heavy one, those were taken by the adults when McGregor started gathering weapons. This one’s been left behind, too light and too skinny to do much damage. Edgar thinks it’s poetic.

He’s also got Kit, his right-hand girl. For today anyway - they trade off who’s in charge every time there’s a project. She calls them “projects,” Curtis calls it “trouble.” Curtis is at the front; he can’t know they’re here. He’ll haul them away by the scruff of their necks, and Edgar will go red, red, red, won’t be able to stop the shame. Kit says she blushes too, but you can’t tell as much ‘cause her skins so much darker. At least she doesn’t give him too much shit.

There’s not too much gore this far back, not too much active violence. The very front is holding ground better than expected, everybody else is twitchy, scared, getting angry. Occasionally Edgar can see a spray of blood above the heads of the people in front of him, and he hears every scream.

It’s different en masse. He’s no stranger to beatings, executions. But on this scale, this level of congestion, it takes some getting used to.

Kit looks scared.

"Do you think we should go back?" she whispers.

"Too late," he whispers back. He should make fun of her, call her a name, call her a coward, but she’s just speaking his thoughts out loud. "It’s too packed. We’re in it, now."

To her credit, she sets her shoulders and gets a hold of her cane. She stole it from somebody. Not Gilliam, he hopes. Curtis really will kill them this time.

The individual pops of gunfire stop, and there’s an almost-hush. He tries really hard not to recognize any of the voices that are crying, now, asking for help. They don’t have medics. They don’t even have anywhere to go. It’s front or back, those are the options. 

Suddenly, everything explodes. Edgar’s never actually heard a machine gun before, but he’s seen them and imagined. He’s never imagined it like this.

"We’ll be mown down," Curtis had said, Edgar and Kit peeking around the corner of McGregor’s bunk.

"What’s  _mow_?” Kit whispers to him.

"Dunno."

They look it up in Painter’s dictionary. Cutting down grass or hay. They look at each other and shrug.

When the guards open fire, Edgar learns about grass. 

The front line crumples, the second rushes backwards. Curtis, he can’t see Curtis. Curtis is fine - Curtis is the closest thing Edgar has to a god. Curtis is immortal.

"Edgar, Edgar," Kit’s holding onto his hand now, cane raised like it’ll do any good. She isn’t shaking or crying, so she’s got him beat.

"Kit," he chokes out. "Kit."

He squeezes her hand and tries to press backwards. He bumps into somebody.

"What -  _Edgar_ , what the  _hell_ -” It’s Tanya, grabbing him by the shoulders until the crowd shoves them apart.

"Edgar, Edgar," Kit says again insistent.

"What?"

"You’re my best friend."

"I - What? I know -"

Tanya’s got him by the arm again. “Get back there, you kids get  _out of here -_ ”

And then somebody cuts off his arm at the shoulder. No, no, it’s there, it’s just on fire. No, it’s cold. No, he’s been shot.

"Huh," he says, aloud, before stumbling into Tanya.

She’s cursing, and she covers the hole with her hands. Something hits his chest, but it’s not a bullet, it’s bigger and it’s warm and it’s wet. It’s knocks him down.

His arms go around it as soon as he hits the ground. His vision clears and sees that it’s Kit on top of him, so he holds her tighter.

"It’s safe down here," he says, or maybe he just thinks it. He can see Tanya’s feet, spread out like she’s defending them, making a wall in front of them. 

He shifts Kit on top of him. He wants to show her his wound. Now that he’s in shock, he can hardly feel it. He pulls her closer and her head lolls against his chest. Part of it is missing.

He really tries to pass out. Her blood is on his face, there’s something more than blood leaking onto his shirt. He tries to pass out, staring at her face, for over an hour. Curtis finds him after more than an hour, pulls her off of him. He fights, instinctively, but he can’t move his right arm. It’s not until Curtis picks him up in his arms like a baby that he finally passes out.


End file.
